


Of Lust and Love

by Elinad



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Light Bondage, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Victorian Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 21:13:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2706980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elinad/pseuds/Elinad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An angsty Watson finally makes the first move, but how will Sherlock take it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I watched him as he puzzled over the latest case, whilst lounging on our sofa – I observed those magnificent brows of his, drawn in to a frown of concentration. One elegant hand propping up his finely featured face whilst the other weaved those nimble, violinist fingers through his immaculate hair.

Beautiful...

Filled, as always, with a longing that I have in vain attempted to smother for so long, I felt a fire alight in my loins; a fire of the most lustful kind. I wanted so desperately to send those raven locks in to disarray, to place my hands around that swan like neck and plant kisses all along that alabaster flesh. His skin looked so soft to the touch…

To this very day, I still have no idea quite what came over me, what made me decide to risk throwing away all I had, to finally succumb to the demons that I'd tried so hard to imprison; yet before I knew what I was doing I had left the sofa, and my fears, behind me and was standing over Holmes's desk. He looked up at me.

"Everything quite all right Watson?" he queried, a light of amusement dancing in his grey orbs and a smile with the slightest hint of bewilderment adorning his lips…those lips.

I seized him by the collar; yanking him abruptly in to a standing position, without seeing his reaction, I leaned in and smashed my mouth against his.

Finally, freedom. It was pure bliss, thrusting my tongue down his un-expecting throat, tasting, excavating. My entire being was overwhelmed with so many emotions. I had kept it all under lock and key for so long, dressing my love in the garb of friendship and admiration. I wondered, that with his keen intellect and astounding ability to read emotion with inhuman ease, had he ever suspected?

After what seemed an eternity; an eternity that I would have gladly drowned in, I pulled away. His usually bloodless cheeks were flushed with a hint of pink, he was shaking. I felt a twinge of guilt then, I had been a little rough with him. I gazed in to those twin grey stars, expecting disgust or hatred to gaze back; but I saw neither. There was only shocked confusion and…innocence? A completely child like innocence that I'd never seen in the man before, that was when it hit me -

he must still be a virgin.

I'd often assumed as much and considered the man to have never had any form of intimate relationship, naturally I had no way of knowing for definite. However, seeing that look confirmed it all, instantly any doubt on that matter evaporated.

Before I had felt contentment, but now that flame was firing up again. I wanted him. Previously my troubled mind had needed an outlet and a way to express my feelings, I suppose I couldn't stand to live in a lie anymore. Although there were many things I wanted to do to my dear detective, they where what I would only in my wildest dreams set out to achieve, things that I'd only experienced in my most dark and sinful fantasies. Things that no gentleman should desire to do.

But now…

If no one had taken him before, then I would claim him as my own. He had always been above me in everything; always the master of his trade, always on top. Well that was about to change, I would make his arrogant eyes succumb to me!

"W…Watson?"

Seeing that he had regained the power of speech, I quickly endeavoured to silence him, planting hard, brutal kisses along his well-defined jaw. I didn't want to talk. I didn't want to think. I didn't want all of this to end.

He gasped and then stiffened in my arms, letting out little noises of pain as my kisses turned in to possessive bites, no doubt swelling in to blue marks ringed with the imprints of my teeth. I ran my arms up and down his thin frame. Damn, his skin was every bit as soft as I'd imagined, like silk. I wanted him. My hard length throbbed.

"W…W...Watson!" He cried again. I nipped at his earlobe and then whispered commandingly in to his ear,

"Call me John."

"John." He sighed, trembling, as my hands ran more and more rigorously over him, he was helpless. I needed to explore him, I couldn't contain myself much longer. My erection was practically ripping my trousers.

Savagely I tore off his tie and threw his jacket over my shoulder. I then began to undo his shirt buttons, pulling many off in the process. Sucking and nibbling at his prominent collar bones and angular shoulders as his top half became bare, inhaling his enticing scent - soap tinged with smoke, only made me need to undress him all the more quickly. He moaned incoherently, sinking down to the floor with me. Laying him upon his back, I tried to control my raging desires and slow myself down. I was acting in blind passion, I needed to steady myself.

Gently removing his trousers I planted softer kisses on to his chest and wondrously flat stomach. His flushed face, ruffled hair and apprehensive expression where so unlike the Sherlock I knew.

It was completely indescribable how it felt to have him at my mercy.

As I discarded his final garments, I decided to take a look at my handiwork.

He was perfect. A true work of art, surely he must have been heaven sent. He was striking enough in clothes, out of them he was simply stunning. Smooth, like the purest white marble; blotched only where my love bites where purpling nicely. His dark hair was a gorgeous contrast to that snow like skin, and so elegant! A strange mixture of feminine beauty merged with the sharp angles that are granted to the male portion of our race. I swear that there was not one ounce of superfluous flesh on his body, he was all legs, eyes and taught muscle. I hungrily roved my eyes over him, taking in every willowy curve; preparing myself to pounce; ready to ravage him…until I met his eyes.

He looked so vulnerable and so completely afraid. Those two pools of grey were filled with fear. I had never seen his features graced with such pains.

My animal craving for dominance melted instantly. I thought hard. This was not fair on him. Deep down I knew that my love for him was too strong to allow me to ever hurt him or force him to do my bidding. Lust is so much weaker than true love. But what had I done? What was I preparing myself to unleash upon the only person I will ever truly adore? But most of all, what was I to do now? I loved him. If I ever did anything I wanted to make this enjoyable; for him and for me. But why would, or should, he ever consider merging with me?

I moved over to him. He flinched, but I carried on forward, taking his slight frame in to my arms, he felt so delicate; like I could break him at any moment if I chose. He remained still for some time, but then I felt slender arms and stealthy hands embrace me. We stayed like this for some time.

As I felt tears sting the corners of my eyes, it was I who chose to break the silence.

"Holmes, I'm so sorry!"

He broke away, lifting his head from my shoulder he pulled back so that our eyes could meet.

"Surely after this, my dear John, we should be on a first name basis?" Wearing a wry smile, a sparkle of his usual dry humour shone through. I couldn't believe it; the man had almost completely regained his composure.

"After all…you did demand it of me." He spoke this with more than a mere tinge of bitterness.

I choked back more tears, and laughed what sounded rather like a sob.

"As witty as ever! But I deserved that one…Sherlock." It felt odd; but not in the slightest disagreeable to call him by his fore name.

He smiled a small, strange and slightly sad smile at me. I could no longer look at him, allowing my tears to flow freely; I turned to stare at the carpet. He'd been nothing but kind, noble and an extremely good friend to me all these years, and what had I done? I had nearly abused him, taken advantage of him in his very home. I didn't deserve to be looked upon by something so magnificent.

Sharply my breath caught in my throat as long, lean fingers gently tugged my face.

"Oh what am I to do now?" I cried, to no one in particular.

"This."

Soft lips engulfed my mouth. It wasn't a hungry, desperate kiss like that I'd enacted before; forcing my tongue in to every crevice of his mouth, leaving him gasping for air. Instead this was gentle and warm. I could have gladly stayed like that for ever, until the unravelling of time itself. But apprehension tugged at my mind,

"Sherlock...why are you doing this?"

He bit the lower lip of his sculpted mouth; nearly drawing blood, lost for words – a new experience for the man. Gently I reached for his pointed chin and lifted his gaze to mine.

"Because…" he looked away, but struggling he turned back to me, "because I love you John."

Bliss.

Looking back, all from that point dissolves in to one blissful blur.

He loved me.

He loved me.

He still loves me.

Once it had been established that our feelings were mutual, it was no longer I who would be the first to act and he resumed his place, as he had always been, as the master…

But I'm working on that. Those grey eyes will become clouded by passion

And it will be my doing.

But until then, I'm happy that the one who; I will swear, was made for me, returns what I feel. I do not care if it is unnatural, to us; it is the most natural thing in the world.

I love him. I always have. I always will.


	2. Chapter 2

The patient in question has a mild case of-

My writing was interrupted as a certain detective began to nuzzle my face and neck with smooth cheeks, reaped of any stubble by his meticulous morning shave.

"Sherlock, please, how many times have I told you, it is essential that I complete these medical papers!" My agitation was evident in my voice - he'd been restless all morning, no doubt a product of the current drought in the criminal world and was relieving it by pestering me.

"But John..." he lowered his mouth to my ear and blew in a spoilt yet seductive whisper, "I'm bored."

"The quicker you allow me to finish these the quicker we'll be able to move on to something more…interesting."

He resumed his nestling against me.

"What do you have in mind?" With his deft, dexterous hands, he began to slowly stroke my neck. "And I don't want to wait. I want to…" he bit me hard on my jaw, "now."

"Holmes…please." my words came out like gasps. I felt my resolve, dissolving…he was so persuasive when he wanted to be - no, I firmly told myself, mentally shaking myself from my stupor, you must stay vigilant, you can be the master for once.

Taking a deep breath, I closed my fingers around his wiry arms and resolutely removed his hands from me, squared my shoulders and picked up my pen.

"Holmes. I said no."

He paused, then, with a snort of feigned indifference haughtily strode away from me and proceeded to collapse upon the sofa. I cast a gaze at him, which he blatantly ignored, instead sticking his nose in the air.

Well at least I can concentrate now.

But to my dismay, I found that I could not. My eyes kept leaving the paper in front of me and straying over to that lithe figure sprawled upon the easy chair, his long legs draped over the arm.

He really did remind me of a cat; a sleek, spoilt cat - charming and devious, with glossy black fur and penetrating grey eyes. Constantly the epitome of elegance, no matter how he sat, stood or lay he would always look so refined; with a grace that was natural to him.

He decided to meet my evaluative stare for a moment, and then looked away, his face an emotionless mask.

I will not let him weave his spell around me this time.

I resumed my writing with renewed effort, after an hour or so, I was done.

Holmes had barely moved an inch in the past sixty minutes. He had stayed with his arms crossed sulkily and his head held stiff.

I could tell now by his fixed position and perpetual glare at the ceiling that he was no doubt extremely affronted by my previous rejection and certain to be in a stubborn and unresponsive mood for the rest of the day.

Insufferable man! Damn his pride. Although it was I who had initiated our relationship, it was not long before he knew how to control it. He learned everything at an alarming rate - as was his nature. Soon he knew how to manipulate me and my emotions anyway he wanted - to get anything he wanted from me.

No wonder he was offended; his loyal little pet disobeying him.

He loved me, I knew he did, it was just that he had very little knowledge in the way of romantic relationships…or any relationships really! Also at times, he could have a very self-absorbed and childish mentality. I believe it must have stemmed from his childhood in some way. Of course I did love him dearly, more than I could ever love anyone else, but he did have his faults, and they would grate terribly on my nerves. His untidiness, his complete disregard for his health, (I must constantly nag the man to eat!) and most of all his selfishness. It is probably because his merits of character are so magnified compared to the rest of the world that his downfalls are too.

Nonetheless, excuses cannot keep being made for him. He needs to learn a lesson.

And I would be the one to teach it.

It had been an unbearably long time since I had felt that lean yet powerful body quiver beneath my own much broader frame, to make him moan and clutch as I ravaged him senseless. I could easily take advantage of him if I wanted, physically I was much stronger, it was just that mentally he was so dominant and masterful.

Oh yes, a lesson was about to be taught.

It was strangely like that fateful day, our positions slightly reversed, me at the desk, and he on the chair.

With confident strides, I left my seat, grabbed his collar and claimed his lips in a crushing kiss. If he had expected it he would have shied away and kept his mouth clamped stubbornly shut, however, having caught him unawares, he gasped, I used the opportunity to ransack his warm moist cavern with my adventurous tongue, leaving him breathless.

I snaked my hands around him, and lifted him from the chair. He struggled.

"Watson, what are you-"

I cut him off, with a quick tweak to his pert buttocks.

He let out a small, shocked squeal. Grinning, I made a mental memo: "apply pressure to Holmes' rear more often".

"Shhhh, Sherlock. It's time for something interesting!"

He was as light as air. It was no problem at all to transport his writhing body through to our bedroom. I threw him on to the bed, he bounced rather high. It really was an amusing sight seeing the world's only consulting detective completely surprised, with his flailing form springing upon a mattress. Quickly, I kneeled on top of him, my legs pinning his sinewy arms down. I began to relieve him of his garments.

Squirming, he attempted in vain to free himself, when realising such efforts were futile he lay back and satisfied himself with glaring at the beige walls. He appeared to be rendered quite speechless, instead uttering small mutterings and splutters of astonishment as I de-robed him.

When he was quite bare I flipped him over on to his front. Clutching his cool, worryingly narrow wrists, I stroked the slightly warmer area where his cobalt blue veins ran like ink trails along the white paper of his skin.

"Watson." He said sternly, in a manner much like a parent scolding an unruly child. He only called me by my surname when he was annoyed with me for some reason or another – naturally I've always done the same.

But I was having far too much fun to take any heed of his tone. I lay myself down over his rangy figure, causing him to sink down in to the fabric. I traced the sharp contours of his bony back, (Lord, I really did have to make sure his meals were more regular!).

Languorously I licked his neck, making the strokes long and sensuous. He shuddered like an infant in the cold.

Raising myself up, I stood at the end of the bed and grasped one hand around each of his jutting hips, I'd learned from previous experience that they made the most perfect handles!

With one arm I kept him held down, the other I used to unbutton my trousers. As I went to resume my original position: - holding his hips; he tried to make an escape. I prevented this by quickly grabbing his slender waist and heaving him back on to the bed.

He struggled some more, but my hands thrust him down. His lower abdomen would no doubt be mottled with blue patches in the shape of my fingertips.

I'd try and be gentler from now on.

Scanning the room, I finally found the bottle of lubricant, it was on the floor by the bed post.

I knew Holmes would try and make a run for it if I relinquished my hold over him…I ripped my tie from my neck.

"Watson…"

A lightning flash; I whipped his tie from the floor.

He started as I speedily turned him over and bound each of his wrists to the wooden pillars of the headboard.

"Watson!

As I proceeded to lubricate myself the smugness I felt must have been radiating from my face as, if it was even possible, the anger in his face increased.

"You're really enjoying yourself aren't you?!" he spat.

Oh yes. Oh yes I was.

"But of course darling, and soon you will be too!"

Grinning, my heart lurched as he began to mutter all the things he was going to do to me later. Ah, he could be so very adorable at times!

Hitching his legs over my shoulders, I leant on the mattress and began to prepare him. Tipping a generous amount of the cool lotion on to my hand I massaged it in to him, feeling myself hardening in anticipation.

Realising it foolish to physically resist he had decided to try and achieve it mentally. His grey eyes turned cold and unfeeling. No spark of recognition flickered in them as I slipped one, two, three fingers in to him.

When I shot in the fourth, he made a small, almost inaudible, sound of displeasure. Probing my feelers further against the moist, muscular walls emitted more stifled sniffles.

Then I forced myself through his small entrance.

He was wondrously, deliciously tight, as always. It was all I could do to stop myself from coming right there as he swallowed me.

I filled him up to my hilt. Slowly I pulled back out.

I grabbed his length and pumped it, massaging the soft skin, feeling it erect under my touch. It is often said that a man's nose reflects his private regions – well I can honestly say that it is true in Mr. Holmes' case. He is certainly blessed when it comes to the size of both these areas of anatomy.

Keeping my thrusts even and controlled I pulled in and out. His loins now standing to attention, created luscious friction against my stomach.

His moans filled my ears, gradually growing in volume, until shocked I discovered that my own mouth was joining in.

His pale face grew flushed as sweet little patches of red flared upon his hollow cheeks, as his usually focused grey eyes became cloudy.

I tried to keep a smooth and even pace, but that hot, engulfing tunnel was becoming unbearable. My thrusts soon became erratic as stars swam before me. The building pressure in my lower region was excruciating, threatening to explode at any moment. Feverishly I clung to the firm flesh of his buttocks, it was all I could do to keep me from collapsing as pleasure consumed me, blinding me. My brain was drowning in heat. I could feel my nails digging in to him. Sweat poured from me as I rammed, harder and harder, the pain spurring me onwards. Like a wild animal I rode him, pushing and penetrating and riding the waves of pure, primitive, physical ecstasy. Our yells bounced about the bedroom.

From the cacophony of screams I heard my name, my first name.

I roared his as I felt his hot, white seed erupt against me.

My own soon followed. Filling him with my essence. I bit his shoulder to steady myself against the flood, tasting the salty lacquer of his sweat. A magical relief from the imprisoned heat, next I, utterly exhausted, fell upon the bed beside him.

Lethargically, I lolled my head and kissed the nearest part of him, the hollow of his neck.

He merely closed his eyes.

Contented, we lay.

A cry of "Confound it Watson!" bounced around the living room as, yet again, Sherlock had tried to sit down too quickly

Chuckling, I gestured for him to come over.

"My lap may provide a comfier alternative old boy!"

He strode over and lowered himself gingerly, and I may add, a little haughtily, onto my thighs.

"There there, now my dear chap, tell your Doctor what's wrong and let him have a look."

He snorted disdainfully.

"It's nothing you haven't seen before,"

I smiled, a true statement indeed.

"Besides, you've done enough." added he, frowning deeply.

I bounced him lightly, but stopped as I noticed him wince, so instead I decided to embrace him, hugging his waifish frame. Leaning forward to breathe in that bitter aroma of tobacco and his own special scent that I loved so much.

"Can Doctor kiss it better?"

He relaxed his stiff posture and turned to face me.

"…well I suppose so."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just a silly chapter where the boys have some fun.

**Holmes' perspective***

It was a crisp and blustery day in October, I had just been down to see a few acquaintances at the laboratories in order to obtain some vital chemicals, as my stocks had become quite depleted. Eager to return to my dwelling I strode quickly up to my rooms, but was rather taken aback by the sight of Watson entertaining a young maiden.

Both, it appeared, were also equally surprised by my sudden entrance, as my dear Watson sprang to his feet and extended a hurried hand towards our guest,

"Holmes! This here is Miss Merryweather, she's come to see you about a case". All this was said at quite a speed, and with a faint blush crossing the doctor's features.

I turned to face the lady.

"How do you do ma'am?"

She raised herself from the sofa and greeted me with a neat bow of the head.

"How d'you do sir?" she smiled. Her movement and low cut dress displayed quite evidently the reason for my companion's blushing. Even for someone not so gifted with powers of observation as myself, it was rather, shall I say, somewhat obvious.

Oh my dear, dear Watson…

As she explained to me her problem, it appeared that she had lost an extremely valuable piece of jewellery in most unusual circumstances, I examined her face. She was attractive as females go, even featured with a clean complexion, with those considerable assets that she didn't mind placing on show, however out of the corner of my eye I could see that I was not the only one visually appraising her.

Dear, dear, sweet, Watson…

 

***Narrator's Perspective***

The detective leapt across the room to grab a large map of the streets of London, which after resuming his seat upon the couch next to Dr. Watson, spread out across both their laps.

"Now, Miss Merryweather if you could please indicate exactly where you met this gentleman."

As the young lady sitting on the couch opposite the two men leaned forward and proceeded to do so, Holmes snaked a vicious hand, unseen to any observer, across to Watson's lap.

 

***Watson's Perspective***

The long cold fingers of fear gripped my heart as my beloved detective entered the room. I'm sure the dear Miss Merryweather couldn't detect any of the warning signals…but I most certainly could. The stiffness of his posture, the cold and calculating look he had scanned me with. Needless to say it was great unease I felt as he placed himself next to me. His very presence emanated some wickedness.

Confound it though! Is a man not allowed to appreciate a pretty thing? Is he saying I am not permitted to cast an approving glance over any great thing of beauty without expecting reprobation?

Good lord, what is he doing, is that his –

 

***Narrator's perspective***

"Ah!" cried the Doctor, jerking in pain as he felt a rather uncomfortable amount of pressure in his nether regions.

"Are you quite alright?" asked Miss Merryweather with a look of concern.

"Oh hoh, he's quite alright," beamed Holmes, "he just has an old war wound that plays up from time to time. Isn't that right Doctor?"

"Yes…quite." glowered Watson, his dark expression a vivid contrast to Holmes' practically shining smile.

"Now Miss Merryweather, where were we?"

"Yes of course, now I'm quite certain that I was apprehended here, by-"

"Ah!"

"Doctor Watson, are you alright?"

"Yes, yes, he's fine. This happens all the time. Doesn't it old chap?" Holmes turned and grinned once more.

"No it –", the detective cut short this sentence by increasing the strength of his grasp, "I mean, yes, yes it does."

Breathless and looking extremely uncomfortable, the doctor wriggled back in to the sofa cushions.

"Well…if you're sure, now I believe it was by Fullham Street, here that,"

"Ah!"

"That the man"

"AH! Arrgh!"

"Mr. Holmes, are you certain that-"

"Yes, yes, there's no problem with our good doctor, do continue."

"Uh, yes, well, I definitely think this is the place."

The meeting was further punctuated by the doctor's cries of discomfort as Holmes skillfully played his friend's manhood like a badly tuned piano, that is until the aforementioned map was taken away, which then after Dr. Watson seemed to magically recover.

"Now off you go good lady, I promise this will all be solved in no time at all."

"Thank you so much Mr. Holmes, shall I call again tomorrow?"

"Yes that will be splendid, I say I should be ready for you by….4 o'clock?"

"4 o'clock it is. Goodbye Dr. Watson, I do hope you feel better soon."

"Hmm, I'm sure I will" replied the Doctor quietly

"Yes, yes I'm quite sure he will too, farewell now!" The door was shut, and a moment of silence was shared. A satisfied grin doing battle with a heavy frown, until at last the smug detective grabbed his coat and rushed out – doubtless in order to solve this latest case.

"Good god, that man!" muttered the doctor darkly at the closed door. Enraged, yet also rather pleased at this opportunity for some equally playful revenge, which lighting up a cigarette he began to plot.

It had not been easy for Watson, but he believed everything would turn out to be worth his efforts. After sharing a wordless evening with Holmes, he had headed out huffily the next morning, claiming he was going to call on an old friend, but instead he stayed at the end of the street, waiting until he could see Holmes leave - which cost the poor doctor two hours of shivering. But at last, his eyes clapped upon a familiar sparse figure, prowling the pavement and headed in the opposite direction. So, rubbing his hands with glee, Watson set about on his mission.

 

***Holmes' Perspective***

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the bell, no doubt signaling the arrival of my client.

"Ah, Miss Merryweather, thank you Mrs. Hudson. Now come right this way my dear".

"Is the good Doctor in today?"

"No, no he is out at present," I replied, and a jolly good job too, what with him being such a lecherous grump at present, naturally this part was not said aloud, I instead continued "can I offer you a seat?"

 

***Narrator's Perspective***

To which he lead the young lady over to his desk, Holmes always preferred to explain a case from his desk, where the brandy cupboard was close at hand if necessary. However, he himself would never stay seated there long as when deep in explanation; he would begin to eagerly pace the room.

 

***Watson's Perspective***

I'm sure the smile I smiled must have nearly split my face in two, as I saw two pairs of feet walk towards me, and even more so as a pair of long, black trousered legs extended their way towards my location…

 

***Narrator's Perspective***

"There you are." Said the sleuth, "Now, I have something for you." He walked comfortably over and produced a golden brooch from one of the desk drawers and then sat, steepling his fingers, leaning across calmly as he awaited her reaction.

"Oh, bless you! Bless you Mr. Holmes, thank you so much!" she smiled and took her treasure from him.

***Watson's Perspective***

I knew the perfect time, just when he was about to put on his special, "explanation voice". This would stop him in his tracks, and teach him a lesson, insufferable man…

***Narrator's Perspective***

"It was no problem at all my dear, I – " the detective broke off with a small grunt as he felt a hand clasp itself most firmly about his length. Shock left him motionless for a few moments, until painful yet strangely pleasurable tingles began to consume him. But with an uneasy cough, he remembered his situation and arranged his features in to a more composed, if somewhat pained looking, expression. Warily he continued,

"I merely made a few inquiries and knew exactly where to go."

"But who, who did it Mr. Holmes?"

"A good question indeed it was your –" again, the detective's sentence was cut short by a ruthless plucking in his lower regions.

For the best part of the afternoon Watson had been hidden under that desk, as unluckily for the poor doctor his detective had returned to Baker Street rather earlier than expected. So now, Watson had every intention of inflicting as much discomfort as he had suffered for countless minutes in that cramped, dark space. So with excited hands he began to unbutton the trousered crotch that was now at his mercy…

Wiggling with worry, Holmes could only stutter, "It was your, it was your, it was your butler Miss Merryweather." After finally completing this sentence, Holmes suddenly found himself gasping, barely able to contain himself as he felt a warm mouth envelop him.

"My butler! But lord, how?"

"Yes," said Holmes, gently trying to ease himself away before he felt a commanding nip telling him to remain exactly where he was. Grimacing, with a slightly defeated, and breathy voice he continued, "a sorry story really, it appears he had become wound up in all sorts of gambling debts."

"Oh Mr. Holmes, I never had any idea."

Back arched, voice gravelly, he attempted to reply,

"Yes, well it-it's no surprise really; he covered his tracks, rather, rather…well." Now the detective really was having difficulty forming any coherent words, his eyes lidded, hands clenched in to tight, stubborn fists.

"Miss, Miss Merryweather," he managed from between convulsions "if you don't mind…if I could speak to you at another time…"

"Yes, yes of course, you do appear rather flushed, in all this excitement I hadn't noticed. Are you alright?"

"Hmm…oh…well…ah! Not, not terribly, I'm afraid…I believe I need to, rest, yes. I am so very sorry."

"No no, not at all Mr. Holmes, obviously you have been working yourself too hard." The lady raised herself from her chair.

"Yes…perhaps…here, let me show you out." He moved to stand, and was surprised but glad to see that he had been released. Hastily he grabbed his dressing gown which was conveniently hung near by to cover any…evidence.

"Yes I do apologise."

"No, no, it's quite alright really, you've done yourself in. You make sure you rest up now."

"Yes. Quite. Well, do call around again whenever you are available and I shall explain everything you wish to know in full."

"It is most appreciated Mr. Holmes, I shall stop by again then tomorrow, I hope you will feel more like yourself by then. Goodbye."

"Goodbye!" after shutting the door on the slightly worried young woman Holmes whipped around to see a triumphant doctor emerging from under his desk.

"You, you, sly old dog you!" Holmes couldn't decide whether to be furious or highly amused, or somewhat aroused…

Watson smirked, "I should say the same thing."

The two were at a standoff before simultaneously leaping together to form a tangle upon the floor.

Holmes dived in and wrapped a commanding hand around Watson's hardening manhood, Watson's hands reached for Holmes' trousers, leaning his head in –

"Now where were we?" grinned Holmes.


End file.
